


si volvés (yo vuelvo)

by laratoncita



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: Tonight, the moon looks like Billie Holiday, tremblingbecause there are problems other people have& now I have them, too.(Analicia Sotelo, "Summer Barbecue with Two Men")64 days after their first date (lunch and then library time, when, after an hour of sitting at the table on a suspiciously empty floor of Founders, Tony looked up, confused, and said, “Was that a date? Are we on a date right now? Can I kiss you if it is?”) Connor wakes up in a cold sweat.





	si volvés (yo vuelvo)

**Author's Note:**

> you know that feeling when you're 19 and falling in love for the first time and suddenly everything and nothing makes sense? that's what this fic is about. title from fémina’s “brillando” (associated playlist linked in the end notes!) tentative timeline for this fic: feb 5 2017 — mar 8 2017

64 days after their first date (lunch and then library time, when, after an hour of sitting at the table on a suspiciously empty floor of Founders, Tony looked up, confused, and said, “Was that a date? Are we on a date right now? Can I kiss you if it is?”) Connor wakes up in a cold sweat.

Next to him, Tony is still asleep. He talks in his sleep a little, mumbles in English and Spanish and sometimes Lunfardo, which Connor can’t even pretend to understand. He doesn’t move for a long moment, not wanting Tony to wake up. It was just a dream, vivid as it was, and there’s no point for the both of them to be awake if they don’t have to. There’s no practice Sunday mornings anyway, and Tony’s roommate is gone for the weekend, so they were able to break in Tony’s bed the way they had Connor’s over a month ago. They tend to just head back to Connor’s place when they want alone time, though they’ve managed some quickies in between classes at Tony’s, since his dorm is closer. The quiet rush of not getting caught isn’t there when in a single, after all, and the change of location makes it all feel new again.

Well, it always feels new, Connor thinks, feeling his face go hot, and Tony shifts closer to him, head on Connor’s shoulder. A rush of affection floods through him, and he adjusts Tony’s arm so it’s curled over his waist better. After a moment of hesitation he links their fingers, and it makes Tony snuffle a bit, nose tucked in close to the sensitive skin of his neck. Connor lets out a breath and closes his eyes, trying to forget the uncomfortable dream he just had. It doesn’t work, but he falls asleep with the surreal images of him and Tony figure skating to prove themselves at Stop ’n’ Shop, only to get a flat zero from Bitty, at the forefront of his mind anyway.

The next morning the dream is mostly forgotten until breakfast, when the whiplash of the memory makes Connor choke on his chai latte. That it went so long un-thought about may or may not be because Tony went down on him until he came twice, and then the two of them made such a racket that one of Tony’s neighbors ended up banging on their shared wall. Connor is not feeling smug about it, but he is feeling some type of way.

They’re at one of the breakfast shops a little further from campus, because Jerry’s always ends up full of hungover co-eds on the weekends, and Connor would rather not ruin the post-coital glow by running into anyone from the Haus. Chances are they’d immediately have an grossly misinterpreted idea of what he and Tony were up to, and then they’d never hear the end of it. As far as Connor is concerned, no matter how much better their relationships to one another, the team _still_ doesn’t have the right to know everything about everyone, even if it seems like the upperclassmen are into it.

Once Connor stops coughing, he looks up to see Tony looking worried.

“Are you okay? Do you need water? I told them not to use sunflower oil, do you think it’s—“

“I’m fine,” Connor says, voice a little rough. “I swallowed funny.”

Tony still looks worried, but his furrowed brow relaxes a bit. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” Connor says, and takes a bite of his pancakes. They’ve got strawberries and chocolate chips, and they’re the best breakfast item on the menu. Tony’s eating dulce de leche waffles, though he always complains that the homemade stuff is better. Under the table, they’re playing footsie.

“I had a really weird dream last night,” he finally says, and stops when Tony looks up.

“What was it about?”

“It was. I think it was about us?” he says. “It was weird. The team was there, but we were. Um. Skating? But like figure skating.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Tony says, “and I thought you said you were never too good at it.”

“Yeah, I was pretty average,” Connor says, “but in the dream. We were. Competing? I think? Bitty was judging. We did really bad.”

That makes Tony smile. “What were we competing for? Were we a team? Like pairs? Is that what it’s called?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, “I think. Ugh. I think we were like. Proving? That we could be together?”

Tony looks more confused than before. A little distressed, even. “I don’t think Bitty would judge us badly if it was. For that.”

“Well,” Connor says, “I guess not. It was just a dream. It’s fine.”

“Is it bothering you?”

He hesitates. “It woke me up,” he admits, “but it’s fine. Dreams aren’t real.”

“I thought they were a reflection of your subconscious, though.” Tony’s mostly done with his waffles. He takes a sip of the giant orange juice they’re sharing.

Connor shrugs, “Well, what’s there to worry about? No one’s business but ours if we’re dating.”

Across the table, Tony beams.

* * *

 

Connor knows this sentiment is more concrete in theory than in practice. The Haus, and by extension, the SMH, is a space of sharing. Constant sharing. Excessive sharing, even. It wasn’t like it was an unsafe space, but it did mean that the level of privacy that Connor preferred to live his life in was one that was completely abnormal, at least to the hockey culture they’d cultivated at Samwell. It drove the upperclassmen nuts that he disagreed.

That’s not the say that Connor doesn’t appreciate the team. It’s not freshman year, anymore, and he’s long learned to adjust to both Samwell and the team in general.  Sure, Winter Screw had resulted in he and Tony awkwardly ditching their dates to make out in Tony’s room, but, well, that was kind of their choice, wasn’t it? Connor (and Tony, though if he really thought about it, it was really Connor) wanted to keep it between the two of them for as long as they could.

The chirps probably wouldn’t be too bad, Connor figured, but it was the principle of the thing, really. He meant what he said to Tony: it was nobody’s business if they were dating. Maybe it would mess with the dynamic if they— _well_ , it isn’t messing with the dynamic in the present. That’s what counts, Connor reminds himself, as he walks into the Haus after class on Tuesday.

All it means is that Bitty isn’t his parent, even if he’s responsible for the team in a lot of ways. Connor’s allowed to have a boyfriend and he’s allowed to keep the knowledge of it close to his chest if he wants to. Though sometimes he wonders if he really wants to.

It’s one week before Valentine’s Day, 67 days into being Tony-and-Connor. The two of them decided to post-pone any plans for the weekend after some time during January, considering the finicky nature of any college student’s schedule. That Tuesday will probably just be a study-date and maybe a little more afterwards, assuming that the first round of midterms didn’t treat them too badly. They have a roadie this weekend, anyway, so going out early can’t happen even if they want it to.

According to the grapevine, Ollie and Wicks are to be left alone all of Thursday in the name of homework. Since they won’t be able to go out early like most Samwell students, the two of them are apparently going to brave the crowds the day of. Connor could respect that, begrudgingly, but mostly he thinks they’re playing themselves.

To be fair, sometimes he considered _being_ like Ollie and Wicks. Nobody had blinked when they redecorated and moved a queen-sized mattress into the attic. Connor thought he missed something absolutely obvious, but Tony looked confused, too, and Bitty surprised. Ready to take it in stride, of course, but still a bit off-guard. Considering the #KupDay fallout, it’s kind of hilarious, not that Connor will ever say that to anyone besides Tony. (That said: Tony agrees.)

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Connor thinks, if everyone knew the truth.

Then again, considering the aforementioned fallout, maybe it’s best if it stays under wraps just a bit longer. He’s still thinking about it when he walks into the Haus.

“Hey, Bitty,” he says, when he enters the kitchen. It smells like Parmesan cheese, and his stomach growls. Bitty jumps when he hears him.

“Connor!” Bitty says, turning with a half-sincere frown on his face, “ _Lord_ , you are quiet. Are you hungry? I just finished some risotto. It has squash in it.”

“Sure,” he says, and then, “wait, is that pie?” He mentally backhands himself. Of course there’s pie.

“Sweet potato,” Bitty tells him, very seriously. He hands him a bowl full of risotto. “But eat first, it’s still cooling.”

“Does it have cinnamon?”

“It’s so sad,” Bitty says, “that you don’t trust me not to kill Tango.”

Connor takes a bite to avoid answering. Bitty narrows his eyes.

“I messed up once,” he says, wagging a finger, and then turns back to the counter, where he has his laptop propped up. “And he only had a sip of that hot chocolate before he realized it. _And_ he still tried to drink it.”

Connor keeps chewing. Bitty turns, bringing the laptop with him to sit across the table. He says, under his breath, “I swear, everyone does this with my cooking, as if going into shock is gonna make me feel proud.”

“You’re a really good cook,” Connor offers, rather than ask who else is risking anaphylactic shock on Bitty’s behalf, “I know you don’t cook with sunflower oil, but. I’d probably at least try whatever you made if you decided to use it one day.”

Bitty looks at him, horrified. “Do you _want_ to die?”

“Oil doesn’t usually trigger a reaction,” Connor says, getting up to get a glass of water. “I mean, I avoid it, just to be safe, but. Benadryl would probably fix it if I had a bite of like. I don’t know, sunflower french fries.”

“Who would make that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Connor says, “that breakfast place near town, On the Menu? They use it in everything, we—Uh. I. Always have to ask. For uh. Not. Sunflower oil.”

Bitty looks at him from over his laptop. It makes Connor feel uncomfortably naked. “I haven’t been there.”

He swallows. The risotto, while delicious, feels heavy in his stomach, despite not having finished half his plate. “It’s. Nice. Usually full of townies, but. Mornings are pretty empty.”

“Hmm,” Bitty says, still looking at him. “Good thing I’m not a morning person. Any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

It’s either an out or Bitty’s onto him. Connor can’t tell. He says, lying through his teeth and thinking Bitty knows it, “No. You?”

Bitty grins. (Maybe it was an out.) “Oh, I don’t know. You never really know with Jack.”

“As long as he doesn’t send you sunflowers, I think we’ll manage.”

“Now, how did this turn into a _we_ situation?”

“Bitty,” Connor says, digging into his food again, “The house smelled like the inside of a Bath and Body Works for over a week.”

“You don’t shop there,” Bitty accuses, “and who cares! It was sweet.”

“Okay, Bitty,” Connor says, and grins when it just makes Bitty roll his eyes, smiling at the memory of it, anyway.

* * *

On their Valentine’s date (that takes place on the 18th, 74 days after their first one, and on one of the Saturdays where they don’t have a game), they have an early lunch at the Haus and then head out to Boston. They spend the afternoon there, window shopping and trying to avoid the chill by walking into every free-looking building they come across.

Tony had wanted to check out some of their nature walks, but just getting from the station to a coffeeshop had been too much. There was an art gallery near by, though, and they spent a good hour trying to figure out what all of it meant.

“Do you think we’ll run into Shitty before we leave?” Tony says, the sky starting to go pink with the setting sun. “Oh, or what if there are other Wellies around? Maybe we weren’t the only ones to go out this weekend instead of last weekend.”

“Nah,” Connor says, “I think law school is killing him. And most people go out _before_ the fourteenth, right? We probably would have done the same thing, but with the roadie and all…you know.”

Tony nods. They’re holding hands. It’s windy out, and Connor would bet a slice of Bitty’s pie that he’ll be windburned when he gets back home. Tony’s blue scarf covers up a decent amount of his face, but he’s in the same Samwell hat he always wears. Connor can see his ears going pink. He smiles.

“Ready to head back? The train leaves in half hour, I think.”

“Sure!” Tony says, eyes crinkling like they do when he smiles. “Unless there’s something else you really wanna do?”

“Nah,” Connor says again, giving into impulse and stepping close to him so he can tug the scarf down past his chin. They kiss for a moment, until the air chills them for too long and they pull apart to pull their winter gear back up over their faces best as they can. Connor’s sister gifted him his ear muffs for Christmas.

“Good to go?” Tony says, voice muffled, and Connor nods, pleased as Tony swings their linked hands together on the walk to the train.

It’s half-past five when they get back to campus, and after a brief debate they decide to head back to the Haus to see if Bitty’s made anything for dinner. Connor is thankful for a lot of things related to SMH and the Haus, but the amount of food their captain makes for them does a significant amount to offset the general costs of eating healthy. It’s impressive.

“You think they’ll ask where we were?” Tony asks as they approach frat row.

Connor shrugs. Doesn’t really matter if they do, in his opinion. “Maybe.”

“What should we tell them?”

“I mean, the truth isn’t too bad.”

“You mean tell them we were on a _date_?” Tony sounds genuinely curious. The thought of telling everyone makes Connor kind of sick, though. Somewhere between elated and nauseous.

“No…I mean, we can just say we were hanging out. You know. They’re not gonna think it’s weird.”

“That’s true,” Tony says, thoughtful. They’re still holding hands, even though they’re nearing the house and maybe should have stopped by now. It’s not like they’re even really _touching_ , Connor thinks, considering they’re both wearing gloves, but. Still. He likes being able to hold Tony’s hand; wishes he could do it without worrying that someone from the team might see them.

Why does it _bother_ him so much, anyway? He can’t seem to figure it out. Part of it is definitely just wanting to keep some things personal. Not everyone has to know everything there is about him. Except maybe Tony, but that’s because he _wants_ him to know, and even then, he doesn’t think it’s possible to so completely know someone like that. Not that he and Tony won’t try, anyway. Still. Connor’s torn between thinking it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for the team to know and then hoping fervently that no one suspects a thing.

Maybe it would be less upsetting if people did, and he and Tony had to be sneaky. Right now, it feels almost like nothing. Like people look at them and can’t fathom the two of them being _together_ , not the way they are. That bothers him, too, maybe more than anything else. Sometimes he can’t get a read on Tony, either—does it bother him, that no one else knows? Does he resent it? The questions are endless on Connor’s end for once.

It’s not until they’re standing in front of the Haus that they finally let their hands drop. Connor feels indescribably colder, even if in reality in didn’t really mean a difference. It’s weird; the Chads have definitely seen he and Tony out together, and oddly enough Connor had never really tried to hide it from them. All they did was ask if it was serious and then nod, also very seriously, when he said yes. No additional comments were made besides the LAX bro equivalent of #GotYourBack, which Tony had a million questions about.

They stay standing outside, despite the cold. Connor guesses that Tony kind of wishes they were still in Boston, or maybe out to the team—it’s what he’s feeling, at least. He looks at Tony for a long moment, watches the micro-expressions that flash across his face, the curiosity, the happiness, the relaxedness.

Tony says, “Hey, you okay?”

And Connor has no self-control, because he kisses him again, there on the Haus lawn where anyone could see, only pulling back when there’s a sudden shouted, _oh shit!_ , and a massive thud.

He and Tony spring apart, a good foot in between them, and turn, wide-eyed, to see Nursey sprawled out on the pavement. He landed on his backpack, it looks like, but he still looks winded.

“Nursey?” Tony says, and then Connor hears the front door opening.

“Oh, _Nursey_ , are you alright?” comes Bitty’s drawl. He’s in house shoes and an oversized Falconers sweater. He’s shivering already, despite being outside for all of ten seconds, when Connor turns to look at him.

“Yup!” Nursey says, from the ground, and Connor’s stomach drops. He must have—he saw, everything, maybe, or at least—the kiss, right, that’s what—that’s what would have—is he—”I’m fine. I’m good!” His voice is off. “It’s chill, Bits, the tadpoles will help me up. Right?”

“Oh!” Tony exclaims, like he hadn’t thought of it. “Yeah, here, Nursey, I got you.”

Connor’s still standing there. He turns to look up at Bitty, shivering a bit more violently than before. He feels bad.

“We got him, Bitty,” he says, “do you have any heating pads? He might need one.”

“On it,” Bitty says, and promptly disappears into the Haus again.

Connor still hasn’t moved by the time Tony gets Nurse back on his feet. In his defense, the pavement is pretty slippery from the snow melting and refreezing every day. He looks a bit breathless but otherwise unharmed, and thanks Tony once he’s got his backpack slung over a shoulder again.

“Thanks, man,” Nursey says, and Connor has a split-second of thinking maybe the trauma knocked the memory right out of him before he says, “so, uh, that did not look like a first kiss.”

“Nurse,” Connor says, immediately, the same reprimanding tone Bitty uses when the rest of the team complains about his going out with his captain friends. Nursey flinches.

“Hey,” Nurse says, “I can pretend I didn’t see anything, but. I did see it.”

“Oh,” Tony says, “well. That’s fair! But you can’t talk about it.”

Nurse raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Tell me more.”

“It’s _private_ ,” Connor says, “and no one’s business anyway. We’re not ready for everyone to know about us.”

“Yo,” Nursey says, “I respect that, but, pro-tip: maybe don’t make out in front of the Haus if you’re trying to keep it low-key? Not that I’m kink-shaming you.”

“Please don’t say kink in front of us ever again,” Connor says.

Nursey ignores him. “Also. Since when has _this_ been a thing you’re low-key about? I mean, when did this happen.”

“December,” they answer, simultaneous, and then smile at each other a little dopily. Nursey coughs.

“Cute.”

“Thank you,” Connor says, “and, you know, don’t say anything about this to anyone. Ever.”

“Unless we say it’s okay!”

“Interesting,” Nurse says. “This conversation isn’t over, but I’m cold and my butt hurts. Can we move this inside? Promise not to bring it up to anyone besides like, my sister.”

“Nurse.”

“She’s a grad student,” Nurse says, “it would probably bring some joy to her cold dead heart. I’m physically and psychologically damaged after that little display, you know.”

“You’re full of shit,” Connor says, and then, as he turns to head inside, continues, “ask Tony.”

“I’m cool with it!”

“‘Swawesome,” Nurse says, and then starts answering Tony’s questions about what his sister is studying. Connor feels guilty and giddy at the same time. Wonders what it means, that Tony doesn’t mind someone knowing (even if that person is someone who would have zero impact on them). Still isn’t quite sure anyone besides them should know, actually.

Bitty fusses over Nurse for several minutes, handing him an ice pack, a heating pad, and a massive tube of Icy Hot.

“Do we not have Tiger Balm?” Nursey says, sprawled in a seat with a plate of pear crisp (cinnamon free) and another with cilantro lime chicken and rice on it. He spilled some of the cilantro sauce he walked Bitty through making on the table, and it’s turned his rice bright green. “Not having Tiger Balm is a hate crime. Is there any VapoRub?” He pronounces it in Spanish.

“No,” Bitty says, “I think you used the last of it.”

“Played myself,” Nursey says, and takes a bite of chicken. Connor pours a more respectable amount on his own rice, and watches as Tony skips it all together. Nurse says to him, “I don’t understand how you don’t like cilantro.”

“It’s okay,” Tony says, carefully cutting his chicken into pieces. Connor wonders if its normal to find it so endearing.

“But like. It doesn’t taste like soap to you, right? You have the cilantro gene?”

“Yes,” Tony says, mouth quirking like he wants to smile, “I have the cilantro gene. I like parsley better. Don’t you ever make chimichurri?”

“Argentina,” Nurse says, like it pains him, “all you guys like is steak.”

“Our steak is pretty good,” Tony says, and, finished with slicing up the chicken now, begins to eat. “Not all of us can eat plantains all day.”

“Hey,” Nurse says, “leave my mother’s motherland out of this. Mangú is the shit.”

“Are you sure?” Tony says, and then Bitty says, “Let’s not fight.”

Nurse turns to him, where he’s leaning against the counter texting, “Bits. You work on your thesis today?”

Bitty looks up, guilty. “I was going to after dinner.”

“Have you had dinner?” Tony asks. Bitty gives him a wounded look.

“Yes.”

“Bitty.” Nurse is still looking at him.

“I need to wash the dishes.”

“There’s only a fork left,” Tony points out. Bitty says nothing.

There’s silence for a long moment. Nurse takes another bite of his chicken, keeps his eyes fixed on Bitty, who’s staring at his phone blankly. Connor feels itchy just sitting there. He says, “We’ll wash our dishes.”

“Thank you,” Bitty says, and then heaves a sigh. “Okay, I’ll be upstairs.”

“I’m going to check on you,” Nurse threatens, a grain of rice stuck in his teeth. Bitty makes a face.

“Alright, _Cap_ ,” he says, and then slinks off. The three of them watch him go.

“Where is everyone, anyway?” Tony says. If Connor concentrates, he can hear the faint sounds of TV coming down from the attic. Ollie and Wicks are probably home, then.

“Farmer had a friendly,” Nurse says, “so Chowder went. Dex said he had a thing, wasn’t sure what time he’d get home. Are we going to talk about it now?”

“Nurse,” Connor says, “you’re not our dad, you know.”

“Thank God,” he says, “this would be super fucking weird then.”

Tony looks like he’s about to ask why. Connor decides to not give him the chance. “What do you want to know?”

Nurse leans back. Pulls his dessert close to him. Says, “So. December, huh? Was this before or after Screw?”

“Before,” Tony says. He’s good about answering questions, too. People just don’t usually notice.

“Huh. So. What happened to your dates?”

“Ditched them,” Connor says. “I mean, we tried to be nice about it. But.”

“Bailing on someone is kind of a dick move regardless of how you do it,” Nurse says, “but, like. I get it.”

“Well,” Tony says, “it was. Kind of. Right before Screw, really.”

Nurse blinks at them. “Like. How long before.”

“Three days?”

He stares. “Yo. That’s. I think that’s funny?”

“It’s something,” Connor mutters, looking up when he feels Tony nudge him under the table. A large part of him doesn’t mind Nursey’s questions, relishes them almost, but there’s a tiny part of his brain screaming. Secret-keeping is something he became adept at as a teenager, and sharing one never sits right. He doesn’t understand how it can be so easy for Tony.

“It’s funny,” Nursey says, like he’s deciding, “still, sucks, I think we did a good job on those dates.”

“Eh,” Tony says, and again, the two of them grin for a moment.

Nursey gags. “Okay, anyway. I just wanna clarify. _Nobody_ knows?”

“Nobody,” Tony confirms. “Well. Besides. You know.”

“Right.”

“Are you actually going to talk about us with your sister?” Tony asks.

“Dunno,” Nurse says, taking another bite of crumble. “On one hand, she’ll find it hilarious that I busted my shit in the process of finding out, but on the other, she’ll ask about _my_ love life, so. Anyway.”

“Do you have a love life?” Tony asks. Connor hides a smirk behind his fork.

“Chill,” Nurse says, “your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you,” they both say.

“Y’all are cute as fuck though, now that I’ve had time to think about it,” Nurse says, “and also, shut up.” Connor decides to give him one free _y’all_ pass. Tony looks like he wants to call him out on it.

“Hey, _also_ ,” Nursey says, “I just wanna say, I didn’t say ‘oh shit’ because I saw the two of you, okay? I said it because I thought I was about to die.”

“You’ve fallen way worse than that,” Tony points out, not unkindly.

“Hmm,” Nurse says, “you hate me. I get it.”

Connor takes a deep breath. “We’re leaving now,” he tells him, and Nursey gives them a salute.

“Wait, fuck, you two are being safe right—“

“Goodbye, Nurse,” Connor says, loudly, and then towards the stairs, “bye Bitty!” and rushes out of the Haus, hoping that Tony is following and not filling Nurse in on _obvious_ details about their sex life.

“You said we’d wash our dishes,” Tony says, when they’re a block away.

He’d forgotten. “Nurse can do it.”

“It’s nice of him to not tell anyone.”

“Well, yeah. Kinda what he should do, though.”

“Yeah but. Nursey’s a good guy.”

Connor squints at him. “You know something.”

“I have a suspicion,” he corrects. “I’ll let you know if I think I’m right.”

“Okay,” Connor says, and when Tony takes his hand, asks, “did you want to go back to mine?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, and comes close to kiss him, all of two blocks away from the Haus.

* * *

 

Their next roadie goes to hell. The season has been going well—great, even, and assuming they don’t drop the majority of the rest of their games, it looks like they’re going to make the playoffs this year. It remains true even after they lose both games that weekend, Connor taking a hit that makes his arm feel fuzzy even if the physio says it should be fine in the morning.

It leaves him on edge, teeth clenched. Hall and Murray had been disappointed—the kind of feeling that latches onto his bones and makes him feel angry and sad all at once. Dex is nursing a busted lip, Chowder fussing over him while Nursey does his best to serenade him with bad limericks, even if he knows it’ll make Dex laugh and then flinch afterwards. Up front, Bitty’s got his head bent near Hops’, talking him through the shot he missed during the last period that would have tied them. They lost 4-2. It tastes bitter.

It’s after eleven by the time they get back. Maybe it wouldn’t sting so bad if it weren’t Harvard, or if they hadn’t been doing so well. Last year’s seniors and Shitty had been able to say hi to them before the bus left, but it did little to lift anyone’s spirits. Campus is quiet, and goodnights are said haphazardly, like the team is trying to forget already. Monday practice is going to be hellish, too, based off Bitty’s grim expression as he speaks briefly with the coaches.

Connor sniffs at himself, grimaces. He’s exhausted, and the thought of walking just off campus to get back to his place seems insurmountable, and that’s without thinking about how long it’s going to take to get ready for bed. Tony nudges him after a few moments, their arms brushing every few steps.

“Are you heading home?” he asks.

Connor shrugs. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. It’s not windy out, but the late February air still bites at any skin left exposed to the elements. Connor wishes he had the energy for a bath, but he’s pretty sure he needs to clean the tub first. At least he’s not stuck using the dorm showers this year. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Homework,” Connor says. Wishes he could crawl into bed and just stay there for awhile. Feels something heavy settle over him.

“Okay,” Tony says, and tugs them to a stop. “Text me if you wanna study together, okay?”

They’re standing very close together. Anyone could turn and see. For a second, Connor thinks he and Tony are on the same brainwave about this: it doesn’t _matter_. He rests his head on Tony’s shoulder for a second, grateful that they’re the same height. He was always tall.

“Alright,” Connor says, and lets Tony zip his jacket up higher.

“Get some sleep,” Tony tells him, and kisses his face, where his cheekbone would be sharper if Connor had his way.

“You too,” he says, and they part ways.

Sunday is spent in his apartment, for the most part, with the exception of a grocery run because he’s out of rice somehow. He tells Tony as much, and doesn’t see the rest of the team until Monday morning, when Bitty puts them through a grueling set of exercises. Something about improving all-around, which Connor would normally appreciate.

It leaves them all exhausted. Murray and Hall give them the speech they must have shelved on Saturday, emphasizing that they expect better for the next string of games they have coming up, and it just reminds Connor of how tired he still is. He’s got two midterms this week and a paper due next; he feels like he’s already feeling the stress that should be spread over the entire semester. It makes it worse to think that a few bad games could make him feel this way.

He misses home, he thinks, after he’s showered and mostly dressed. He pauses in tying his shoe to sit back and really think about it. Spring break isn’t for another few weeks, and chances are he won’t have it free to go back, anyway. Two months before finals, and then maybe he’ll head home right after. Maybe. He’s not sure what he’s doing over the summer yet, after all. Maybe he should take a class, get ahead, stay on campus—not like he’s not paying rent, after all, and. Well. Maybe Tony’s spending the summer on campus again, too.

But. It’s not the same. Samwell’s not _home_ , not the way Lansing is. Then again, Connor can’t say he missing _Lansing_ , not exactly. More like he misses his mother’s cooking, and his grandmother’s voice on Sunday mornings when she’d wake them all up for work. He misses his siblings, the way they’d fight for the bathrooms in the mornings and the way they always managed to scrape up enough money for a nice birthday dinner for their mother. His sister said she was moving out come summertime last time he called, and his brother leaves for school in the fall. He’s not sure when the next time they’ll all be home for her birthday will be. He doesn’t think it’ll feel the same.

SMH is great, is a home away from home but it’s still not… _home_.

“Hey, Whiskey,” someone says, and he looks up to find Nursey standing in front of him. His show are still untied. Nurse is bundled up as much as he ever is, a beanie on his head and what looks like a week’s worth of stubble along his jaw. Connor wonders if his will be patchy when it comes time for playoffs, dismisses the thought so as to not jinx everyone. Nursey says, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Whiskey says, and then bends again to tie his shoes. Tony’s talking to Louis on the other side of the room. “Just thinking.”

Nurse takes a seat in the stall next to him, Wicks having walked out already, Olli on his heels. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, and straightens up. The locker room is half empty. He hesitates, then says, “You ever miss something, but not really miss it?”

Nursey looks at him, a considerate expression on his face. He wants to take it back immediately. He says, hoping to clarify, “Like. You miss something, but it wasn’t that great, but also, it’s gone forever.”

“I don’t think so,” Nurse says, slowly. “I think I miss things I can back, you know? So. I miss it, and then I remember it’s not gonna be gone forever, and then. I’m good. Remembering fixes it.”

“Huh.” Connor considers this. Says, “There’s some things you can’t get back, though.”

“Yeah,” Nursey says. “I’m really bad at thinking about those. I just don’t do it.”

“I don’t either,” Connor says, “not usually.”

“Today just special?”

He chews on his lip. Looks over and sees Tony chatting with one of the waffles and wishes he’d look over at _him_. “Guess so.”

Nurse claps him on the shoulder before standing up. He says, “Hey. The good things never go away forever. You know that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He swings his backpack over his shoulder, and Connor leans down to finish tying his shoes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”

“Sure.”

“Connor,” Nursey says, and he looks up at him. His shoes are tied now, but he’s not sure why he’s not getting up. “Seriously. Got your back.”

He quirks a grin. “Yeah. Got your back.”

* * *

 

“What day is it?” Tony says, when they meet up after their last class of the day. It’s starting to get dark out already.

“The 27th?” Class met in Founders, today. Tony’s coming from the CompSci building. The unsettled feeling from this morning hasn’t gone away.

“No,” Tony says, falling into step beside him, “like, what number are we on?”

“Oh.” Connor is absurdly pleased. He hadn’t meant to let his habit of counting days known, but over winter break he’d said, _it’s day nineteen_ , when the two of them managed to steal a few minutes to talk over the phone on Christmas day. Tony managed an explanation from him (no doubt why he preferred calling to texting; avoiding questions directly said to him makes Connor feel like an asshole) and every few weeks asks for an update. “We’re on 83.”

“Cool,” Tony says, and smiles. He’s wearing an actual winter hat today, almost the same color as his eyes.

Connor says, because he can’t help it, “I like your hat,” and Tony beams.

“Thank you! My cousin Puri is really into knitting now? So she’s been making everyone new winter gear, the mittens she sent are kind of full of holes but this is warm.”

“Are you wearing gloves?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Tony says, shrugging his shoulders a bit, “these were bought.”

When they get to Connor’s apartment, it’s dark enough that he has to turn the lights on. While Connor appreciates it no longer getting dark at four o’clock, he’d appreciate it even more if the sun would stay out past six. His place is a one-bedroom, not too far from the train station but not terribly far from campus. The walls are a muted gray, a little depressing, but at the beginning of the year Bitty took a few of them out thrifting, and Connor was able to find some decent furniture, including a couple red lamps that lit up the room just right. Nurse called it mood lighting, the first time he saw it; in retrospect, he was right.

His dining room isn’t big enough for a real table but Connor’s wedged a cheap one in the corner, and he’s got chairs and bar stools besides. The couch isn’t the most comfortable, but he spends most of his time on campus, anyway, so it’s not like he’s complaining. Tony keeps telling him to invest in some tasteful pinups but Connor’s not falling for it.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, like he always does when he comes over. It’s blessedly warm inside.

“Chips?” Tony says. “Oh, or grapes. Do you have grapes?”

“Red ones,” Connor says, “I only have baked chips though. Bitty would kill me.”

“True,” Tony says, kicking his shoes off and draping his jacket over the couch. Whiskey hangs his up, leaves his shoes in the closet, too, and when he turns Tony’s standing very close.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Connor answers, eyelashes fluttering when Tony kisses him. His mouth is warm, tongue slick against his. Tony’s hands are still cold, even through his t-shirt, where he lets it rest against Connor’s waist. He makes a noise against his mouth. “I thought you wanted food,” he says, when they pull apart.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Tony says, and Connor bites his lip, tries not to smile too wide.

“Okay,” he says. They settle at the table briefly, knees pressed together. Tony talks about his programming class, and Connor about his two midterms on Wednesday and Thursday. Tony eats most of the grapes.

Afterwards, he says, “Were you okay this morning?”

“Huh?”

“This morning,” he says, “you were talking to Nurse. You looked worried?”

Connor thinks about it. “I wasn’t worried.”

“What was it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

A little line forms between Tony’s eyebrows. Connor wants to reach out and touch it. “Are you okay? Even if you weren’t worried, you sat there by yourself for a long time.”

“Yeah.”

Tony looks at him. Says, “Okay. But you’ll tell me if there’s something wrong? Or if you need me to help with something?”

Connor runs a hand through his hair, slicked back like always. He can feel himself itching for—for something. All this energy is sitting inside him with nowhere to go. He wants a reason to start talking and not shut up. Something restless. Not even anger. Just a pit inside of him, like he can’t get settled, that’s been building the last few days.

He says, “Let’s sit on the couch,” and feels more than sees Tony watching him. The lamps cast everything in shadow. Their knees press together when they sit down, more out of choice than necessity, considering how big the couch is.

He takes Tony’s hand, says, “I’m fine.”

Tony makes a noise in his throat. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Connor says, and then, “well. Yes. I’m just. Overthinking.”

“Overthinking what?”

 _Everything_. “Anything, School. Hockey. Me.”

“What about you?”

“There’s just a lot, right now,” Connor says. Tony’s thumb rubs over his knuckles, gently. “I don’t. I don’t know.” He pulls away, slowly so Tony knows he’s not upset, standing away from the couch so he can look out the living room window. “I feel like I’ve changed a lot.”

“Changed how?”

“Dunno. Just in general.” Connor rubs at his eye, trying to put the feeling into words. “Feels like. I’m stuck, almost. Or. No, maybe like. Somewhere I’m not supposed to be? But not. Not like, _Samwell_ , you know, just like. This part of life is fitting wrong.” He can feel a wave of—something, building him, out of place. Awkward. “It’s nothing. It’s whatever.”

“Connor,” Tony says, voice soft.

He scowls. “No. I’m just. It’s whatever.” He thinks of the words he might have used before. Doesn’t want them on his mouth, anymore. “It’s like everyone’s got everything figured out. I’ll catch up.”

“Um,” Tony says, “I mean. I don’t think? That _everyone_ knows what they’re doing? They will, eventually, but. It’s okay if you don’t, either.”

“I need to know,” Connor says, turning back to him. “I didn’t come here to—school isn’t, like, four extra years of figuring shit out. I need to _know_. I need to have a plan.”

“Well, what _was_ your plan?”

“Hockey,” Connor says immediately, and winces, then, because it still _seems_ like a dream even if their coaches think he’s more than good enough. “If not, you know, econ. Get a job, take care of—me.” He doesn’t say _take care of my mom_.

“Change isn’t bad, you know,” Tony says. “Is that the problem? You wanna change your—life plan, or something?”

Connor wants to reach out and touch. Wants to hop on a plane and crawl into his mother’s arms like he hasn’t in years. Wants, desperately, to get rid of that sinking feeling inside of him telling him he’s not good enough, not for hockey or school or even Tony, sometimes.

“I’m out of it,” Connor says, like it makes sense. Tony seems to get it.

“Okay,” he says, still calm, sitting on the edge of the couch like Connor isn’t pacing around like a caged animal, barely making sense. “So. Life is overwhelming right now. Right? Is it like. Like you need to take back control?”

“What?” Connor says. It feels like, bees, or something, trying to crawl out of him. He feels like he needs to go for a five mile sprint. Or jump into the lake.

“Is it a control thing?” Tony says, “Either way, this is a problem we can fix, right?”

Connor stares at him for a long time. Slowly, he says, “I guess. I don’t think it’s. A control thing. Just. Feeling a little. Unsettled, maybe?”

Tony looks thoughtful. “Unsettled like uncomfortable?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Connor says. “Like. Okay, like. I’m. I feel like I’m literally about to float into space? Like. I don’t belong here but also not. Anywhere else.”

“Is there something that’s making you feel that way?”

“No,” Connor says. “Yes. Maybe. I dunno. Losing this weekend got me. A little weird.”

“Are you anxious?” Tony tilts his head. Usually the questions help—they’re like a guide, almost, but today they’re not quite landing on the right words like they usually do.

“I don’t know,” Connor says, and Tony makes a gesture, like he wants Connor to step closer to him, so he does. Tony skims his hands up his thighs, comforting, but it makes Connor feel lightheaded with desire, suddenly, and his mouth goes dry. He shelves the unease for another day, leaning into Tony instead.

“Tony?” he says, fingers curled over his shoulders, and Tony meets his gaze, must recognize something there, because they go heavy-lidded like how his own must be. He cards his fingers through his hair, cups Tony’s face in his hands. “I think there’s a way to make me feel better.”

“Yeah?” Tony says, laughing a little, “Tell me?”

Connor shoves at his shoulder. He’s blushing. “You know I’m bad at dirty talk.”

“You _think_ you’re bad at dirty talk,” Tony says, and leans back so that he’s siting more securely on the couch, tugging Connor onto his lap. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, settling down, hands curling in Tony’s hair again.

“Are _you_ really okay though?” Tony asks, earnest.

“I will be,” Connor says, and when Tony kisses him he closes his eyes.

* * *

The feeling lingers. It’s not at the forefront of his mind, can’t be, not with juggling class and hockey and some semblance of a social life outside of it, but it’s there, under his skin. He calls home and stays on the phone for two hours, juggled between his grandmother, mother, and siblings. They put him on speaker so that they can sing his mom happy birthday, and afterwards she promises to try and send him a care package soon, despite his insisting not to.

On the eighth, he and Tony head to the library after a half-decent dinner at one of the halls. He’s got all of a week for breathing room, with another paper due in two weeks alongside another set of exams. With the season still looking good, he might as well get ahead while he still can. Tony has one leg pulled up onto his chair, bent at the knee so he can lean against it. Connor, having just finished a problem set for Monday, takes a moment to stare at nothing in the hopes of his brain resetting enough that he can tackle his Introduction to Interpersonal Linguistics homework, a course he’s only taking because it counts as a social science credit.

His efforts are interrupted when Nursey drops into the seat next to Tony, dropping several books on the table as he does so. They’re at the same table where they first kissed, and Connor feels a little weird knowing that Nursey has no idea.

“What’s up, kiddos,” he says, without inflection. He starts organizing the books, and Connor reaches out to stop him from spilling his coffee all over the table. Nurse flashes a smile, says, “Thanks, dude.”

“Sure,” Connor says.

“How’s it going, Nursey?” Tony says. He’s been steadily working at some psets, not that Connor knows anything about that. He pulls his earbuds out, attention flitting from Nurse to Connor to give the latter a smile. Connor feels his face go hot. Yeesh, he’s got it bad.

“I need to write a five-page paper for tomorrow,” he tells them. “I haven’t started it. It’s chill.”

“You live like this,” Connor says.

“Willingly,” says Nurse. “What are you lovebirds up to, anyway?”

“Studying?” Tony says. “Nursey. We’re in the library.”

“You wound me,” Nursey says, and then, “I don’t want to write this paper.”

“We’re doing homework,” Connor says.

“Take a break and gossip with me,” he says. “My life as a junior is hellish and sad. What hilarious things have the two of you gotten up to?”

“Ford has me doing miscellaneous volunteer work for her theater friends,” Tony offers.

“You practically asked to help,” Connor says.

“Spicy,” Nursey says, “love this drama.”

“Do Dominicans like spicy food?” Tony asks.

“We are not a monolith,” Nursey says, taking a sip of his drink, “but no, not generally. Do you really not like Mangú?”

Connor takes a deep breath. Tony sounds apologetic. “It’s. Not the worst, I guess? I’ll eat it.”

“You’re like, twenty,” Nursey points out, “and a hockey player. You’ll eat anything.”

“Yes,” he answers.

“Cool,” Nursey says, and then turns to Connor, “nothing exciting going on with you?”

“I’m an Econ major,” he says instead of answering. Nursey considers him for a moment.

“True.”

“How’s your sister doing?” Tony asks.

Nurse shrugs. “She’s good. She’s finishing up her second year at Georgetown, you know, so they’re awarding her her master’s this year. My dad’s super excited. I’d make a joke about how she’s out of your league but.” He glances at Connor, “You have really good game.”

“I made the first move,” Connor says, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh,” Nursey says, and then brightens, “wait, gimme deets. How’d it all go down the week of Screw?”

“No thanks,” Connor says, turning back to his laptop.

“Tango, renacuajo chulo,” he says, “tell your favorite frog what sexy moves Connor has.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” Connor says, as Tony asks, “Is that really the word for tadpole?”

“I have no idea,” Nursey says, “it’s one of those words I know in theory but not in practice.”

“Like doorknob?”

“Like doorknob,” Nursey nods. “But how’d it go? Did you _kiiiiss_?”

Connor narrows his eyes at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because,” Nursey says, “chances are it’s an adorable story and you’re just being a buzzkill.”

“It’s _private_ ,” Connor says, flat.

“Tango, back me up here.”

Tony shrugs, smiling a little. “I’m not gonna piss off my boyfriend just so you can get your kicks.”

Connor feels his eyebrows furrow. Nursey coos, “Ooh, _boyfriends_ , I love how official this is.”

“You’re weird,” Tony says, and then Connor asks, “But do you want to tell him?”

They both pause to look at him.

“What?” Tony says.

Connor shrugs. “Do you wanna tell Nursey?”

“Uh,” Tony says, “why—no offense, Nursey—why would I want to tell him something if…I knew you didn’t want me to?”

“What I’m saying,” Connor says, frowning already, “is, _do_ you want to tell him? If I said it was okay, would you?”

Nurse looks uncomfortable. Opens his mouth to say something, but Tony beats him, saying, “I mean. I don’t? Have a problem with people knowing how we started dating? I don’t—”

“When did I say I have a problem with it?”

“Uh, okay,” Nurse says, “this is not. What I was intending when I stopped by here.”

“I’m not saying that, either,” Tony says, eyebrows going up high, “but we agreed we were keeping things quiet so I’m not gonna just tell someone anything they want to know—”

“But is that what you _want_?” Connor says, “Like, if I hadn’t said anything, would you want to tell people?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“So you’re just saying it because you think that’s what _I_ want?”

“ _Isn’t_ that what you—"

“Alright,” Nursey says, loud, and the two of them stop to look at him. “I’m sorry I brought this up. I’m going to get going, because this is mad uncomfortable, and, uh, you guys should probably have this conversation somewhere other than Founders. I’m, um, sorry for bringing up a sore topic.”

“Hey, Nurse—“

“He’s right,” Connor says, shutting his laptop, “this isn’t. Let’s. Not here.”

“Connor,” Tony says, and Nurse carefully tucks all of his books in a bag.

“Later, dudes,” he says, and Connor watches him disappear into the stacks.

He looks at Tony.

Tony says, “We need to talk about this.”

“Well yeah,” Connor says. “So. Let’s go. I don’t wanna—we shouldn’t, not here. Cause a scene.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Are we going to cause a scene?”

“No,” Connor says, “you know what I mean.”

“I _don’t_ know,” Tony says, but packs his stuff up anyway. The walk out of the building is silent. They walk towards Tony’s building.

After several minutes of silence, Tony asks, “What day is it?”

Connor sighs. “Tony, that’s not—“

“What day?”

“92,” he says.

Tony says, “I don’t understand what we’re arguing about.”

“It’s—“

“Don’t say it’s nothing.”

“Okay,” Connor says. “Okay. I just. Aren’t you _bothered_ by the fact that I don’t want anyone to know about us?” His chest aches. Maybe Tony doesn’t want anyone to know, not because he’s private, like Connor, but _because_ it’s Connor.

Tony looks at him, confused. “Why would I be bothered?”

“ _I’m_ the one who wants us to keep it a secret,” Connor says, “and you’ve just. You just keep going along with it, like it’s nothing, like you, you don’t care, like you don’t want anyone to _know_ , and—” He cuts himself off. Tony blinks.

“Don’t…you not want anyone to know, too?”

He can feel himself going hot. “No! Yes! I mean.” He scowls.

Tony takes a step closer, and Connor lets him, lets him curl both hands around his elbows so that they’re not arguing several feet away from each other. Connor doesn’t even know what point he’s trying to make. He was the one who wanted to keep them on the down low, after all.

“Connor,” Tony says, soothing, “I don’t mind not telling anyone because it’s not anyone’s business. It doesn’t mean we’re hiding each other, or, or, that I’m not interested, or that, I don’t know, if anyone else knew it would bother me.” He stops, looking at Connor for a long time, and Connor swallows.

Tony says, “Our team’s a bunch of chismosos. I like having something that’s just for the two of us. It’s fun! If you wanna tell them soon, I’m cool with that.” When he reaches out to take Connor’s face in his hands, he lets him. “But if you wanna keep it between us, then we’ll keep sneaking around.”

Connor blinks. Says, slowly like it’s of the utmost importance, “ _Cochino_ , being sneaky turns you on, doesn’t it?”

Tango smiles so hard he dimples, but there’s an undercurrent of desire in his expression that makes heat pool low in Connor’s belly. “You got me,” he says, and kisses him, briefly but firmly. “But you get it, right? I don’t care who knows as long as it’s me and you. Did I make you think differently? What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” Connor says, pulling Tony closer so that they can hug it out. It’s late enough on a Wednesday that not too many people are wandering campus, and those who are probably won’t care, anyway. “I’m just overthinking things. I like keeping things between us too. It’s. Nice. I just, I don’t like feeling like we’re hiding each other, even if I know it’s not true.”

“Okay,” Tony says, and kisses the side of his head. They pull apart, but Tony keeps ahold of his hand. “What if we stopped hiding then?”

“What?”

“I’m not saying we should make a big deal,” he says, “but what if we just. Stopped hiding it so much? We’re not too good at it, right? Nurse caught us once already. Who cares if someone sees us holding hands.”

Connor tries to think about what that would mean. “So. Instead of being sneaky…we just do what we want?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “I mean. If we don’t treat it like a dirty secret then it’s not right? Not that it’s one now, but. You know.”

“No, I get it,” Connor says, Tony squeezing his hand. “I think. I think I might. Like that? I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Tony says, “but what if we both thought about it? That way it’s something we decide together.”

“Okay,” Connor says after a long moment. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Cool,” Tony says. He smiles at him. “Was that the only thing bothering you? Or did you wanna talk about something else?”

“Nah,” Connor says, “I’m. Good. Are you? I’m sorry I didn’t bring this up earlier. I should have.”

“We figured it out,” Tony says. “We’re good. We’re done arguing now right? Want me to kick Sandro out of the room so we can have make-up sex?”

It makes Connor laugh, so sudden it just bursts out of him. Tony looks absurdly pleased with himself. Finally, he says, “Yeah, but your neighbors are really gonna hate us.”

“Who cares,” Tony says, and tugs him along down the path to his dorm.

**Author's Note:**

> me, obsessively rereading those three tweets about shorts: connor is so fucking gay. // i lied about posting something smutty but rest assured there’s a reason tango can wheel :~) anyway! here’s the [playlist](https://8tracks.com/laratoncita/un-cafecito-nescafe) (rebloggable [here](http://laratoncita.tumblr.com/post/180056297658/un-cafecito-nescaf%C3%A9-a-tangowhiskey-playlist)) ☆ thanks for reading :)


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